Monthly Archives: October 2014

Goodbye my lovers, Goodbye my friends.

dscf1110

This shit-tattered pair of asics have been my running buddies for a many few years, if soles could speak, they would tell you some right dirty stories!

Maybe our best time together was an ill-judged foray into the outskirts and edges of a storm along a skittish cliff path route. We held hands together as we embraced a Shawshank style shitstorm when the black rolling clouds rumbled back in our direction and wetted us inside out.

It has been through all of these times together that my faith in life grew stronger, like a Tiger, they were just that kind of shoe. You know, I should just have them taxidermied and stuffed. It’s such a river crying shame that they’ve been headfirst deep in so much shit. I am heart hollow sorry they’re so frayed and falling to pieces, unfit for anywhere but the trash.

The road is longer than it was yesterday. For next year’s marathon endeavours, a new pair of Asics is needed.

♥ Goodbye my friends ♥

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , ,

“And I hope that none of these wishes are only magical thinking” (Linda Gray Sexton)

 ♥ Deepak Chopra on youtube in the background this morning, ‘Breaking Free From the Conditioned Mind’  ♥ Green smoothie with spinach, pineapple, raspberry, green powder, apple cider vinegar, flaxseed & goji berry  ♥ Jackie Warner arm workout  ♥ window wide open  ♥ bright luscious crisp morning sunshine after eight hours sleep  ♥ Vitamin D  ♥ Cod Liver Oil for my crabby knees  ♥ the bridge between Autumn and Winter is a beautiful pass  ♥ “Kind readers. Strange readers. We begin again we never give up” (The Death of a Beekeeper)  ♥ “Although it takes a while for the fruit to ripen, it will always fall” (Deepak Chopra)  ♥ 

DSCF1055

Elvis & Priscilla’s wedding day

1531691_10152119601424002_1784292764_n

The Elvis and Priscilla tattoo, by Nico Dray, at The World’s End, Guernsey.

This tattoo covers the last hand made scars that I did.

This morning I ran 5.5k around a reservoir, through the woods, across the beaten tracks, kissed by the low October sun, damp, sweaty, breathless ♥ 

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Sunday October 12… The Walking Dead returns

IMG-20121123-WA002 IMG-20121123-WA001 2

http://instagram.com/nicodray

Tattoo by Nico Dray, The Worlds End, Guernsey, Channel Islands.

This tattoo covers a collection of scars from my formative, teenage years. The heart shape was all my idea. Sheriff Grimes has been keeping thigh town a peaceful, safe place for a good few years ♥ 

Tagged , , , , ,

The Bardo Retreat, by Rose Lois Presley.

“Sometimes we hold hands with our diaries everywhere we go, we tease the hair away from their eyes and tuck these strands behind imagined ears. We blow our diaries kisses. We hush their pretty peachy mouths with our fingertips with a ‘Sssssssshhh’. We hide them beneath mattresses because they are filled with our deepest darkest secrets. Sometimes we tie them to rocks and throw them into  wishing wells like bad pennies. Sometimes we rip out their pages, and surreptitiously post these out to sea in small bottles. We set fire to the torn out pieces of scrawl and scribble. Diaries, all that thinking written down loud, are an unbearable burden.  Diaries are all that we leave behind, a collection of our wildest moments, emotions pressed and sealed our secret tomes. Diaries are all that we leave out of conversation in entire lifetimes, lost, forgotten and locked.  Diaries are a lot like bricks and consciousness is a lot like a window.”

(The Bardo Retreat, Copyright © 2014 Rose Lois Presley)

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Every object has a balancing point, a centre of gravity.

“It was that mid-way drift along the highway, over the middle white line on the road, the line that separated nowhere from being. Once you cross it there is no going back. Elvis died. Nowhere was being. Being was nothing, all nothing happening fast. I felt the bars of Graceland’s gates against my cold, charcoal, chiaroscuro fireplace eyes. The distant whispers of matchstick kisses lingered across my bruised, open, waterfall mouth. Dark mascara rivers ran down my broken Snow White red fairytale smile. Loneliness had set into my bones, the kind of loneliness that you have to hit hard, against a wall or with a knife, to prise the icy melancholy out. I was bone and sadness. I was the wall, the knife. I was a pen and my bed sheets were paper. Every night I left ink stains, markings, messages and mistakes. Sometimes I woke up and it said “too much”, sometimes it said enough”. Other mornings I’d wake up to find “MORE” written all over my pillowcases in strange and unfamiliar handwriting.

I was the ice cube, picked up out of a glass of cold water and held like a small crystal ball. His eyes made blue matchstick sparks in mine like he set my heart on fire and watched me melt. He could see no future in me, because I had ‘nothing’ and ‘nowhere’ written all over my hands, cheeks. These wrong words were all tangles and tied like ribbons to my hair. I was the water that fell out of his hand and onto the floor. And so I had no face, no shape or shadow in the present. I looked out into the future and I did not see any reflection staring back. The past was all that I could see, taste, feel and breathe. The glass shattered, the mirror smashed and the straight line that cut through the dark desert highway distorted, fractured and forked.

The past and Baudelaire were all that I could think about. I was the wound. I was the knife. I woke up unknown. I fell into a well of all and nothing, of being and nothing. I was nothing. I was nowhere, all happening so fast. I fell and disappeared, diluted in the waters of a deep, dark well. I was silent, I was absent, drowned and gone. I chartered my descent into these destructive depths. I wanted to remember where I had been. I found myself one morning lying still, playing dead, a tangle of tears with my heart cut to ribbons, alone, empty and lonely on a bathroom floor, nowhere, nothing. I left a trail of breadcrumbs to the place where I melted like an ice cube and I fell to the floor like water, spilled. I was dead to me.”

(The Bardo Retreat, Copyright © 2014 Rose Lois Presley)

Amazon Kindle

Tagged , , , , , , , ,